


How Dare You!

by theSapphireSky



Category: Anne of Green Gables - L. M. Montgomery, Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Anne of Green Gables AU, F/M, Sherlock is smitten, and an Idiot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-01
Updated: 2018-01-27
Packaged: 2018-04-07 02:27:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 8,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4245984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theSapphireSky/pseuds/theSapphireSky
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Molly is new to Prince Edward Island and immediately at odds with the curly-haired boy who calls her 'Mouse' and battles her for the top spot in class. Started as a one-shot in my ficlet series and has apparently morphed into its own story!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. How Dare You!

Her back rigidly straight, Margaret Hooper ( _Molly_ , thank you very much) stared firmly ahead, ignoring the rambunctiousness happening around her. It was her first day in class after arriving on Prince Edward Island and she was going to make a good impression on Mrs Hudson. Her dress, though obviously second-hand and less than fashionable, was ironed crisply and accented by her own, somewhat successful attempt at embroidery. That morning, she'd brushed her plain, brown hair until it shone, then plaited it in two braids that hung over her shoulders.

Yes, Molly did believe she looked her best.

The day began to fly by and Molly proved herself far brighter than most her age in History and English. It wasn't until they took out their boards for their Arithmetic lesson that things started to go wrong.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the boy sitting in the desk beside her slouch down. The curly-haired boy had been huffing in boredom all day, his attention drifting during each lesson. Molly glanced at him and flushed when she caught his disdainful gaze already on her. Not to be off-put, she lifted her chin in the air and sniffed, turning her attention back to the front.

Several minutes passed as she scribbled the equations on her small chalkboard when she suddenly saw him lean over the space between their desks.

'X equals 32,' his somewhat scratchy, yet deep voice rumbled quietly.

Molly frowned at him, finishing up the problem on her own and casting a furious glare on his smug expression. 'I did not ask for assistance,' she hissed.

From the front, Mrs Hudson loudly cleared her throat. Molly flushed and turned back to her work.

The boy's eyebrows shot up and she thought she caught the beginnings of a smile on his face from the corner of her eye. He leaned back in his chair and casually twirled his chalk between his fingers.

She hadn't finished two more problems before a piece of chalk hit her in the shoulder. She looked over at him, incredulous. He smirked. 'The name's William. But I go by Sherlock.'

Molly huffed and turned back, ignoring him. To her frustration, her annoyance only seemed to egg him on further.

'C'mon,' Sherlock smirked and tossed a crumpled piece of paper at her head. 'Don't I get to know  _your_  name?'

Pushing back her aggravation, Molly, as haughtily as she could, flicked her braid off her shoulder and lifted her nose proudly.

That did bring a smile to his face. He opened his mouth to speak again, but another loud cough from Mrs Hudson silenced him. Temporarily.

The lesson was coming to an end when Sherlock finally crossed the line. Absorbed in the final problem, Molly didn't see him move until suddenly he leaned over and whispered loudly, 'Hey, Mouse!  _Mouse!_ '

He reached out and tugged firmly on her braid, thereby finally igniting her wrath.

Furious, Molly jumped to her feet.

'How dare you!' She screeched and did the only thing she could think of; she grabbed his chalkboard and broke it over his pompous head.

As the pieces scattered around his dumbfounded face, shock overcame her rage.

'Oh,' she uttered as she raised a trembling hand to her mouth. Sherlock was staring up at her in a mixture of shock and awe, his eyes wide and his mouth gaping. She swallowed thickly as everyone stared at them and Mrs Hudson marched toward her, ready to dole out her punishment.

This wasn't the impression she had intended to make.


	2. How Dare He!

It wasn't until she had written 'Margaret Hooper has a very bad temper' one hundred times that Molly was permitted to leave. Mrs Hudson watched over her charge with a discerning eye, knowing that Sherlock had prompted the child to lose her temper. But nevertheless, the girl's reaction was far too extreme. The elderly schoolteacher bit back a smile as the girl humbly wrote her sentences, but still had gumption enough to change 'Margaret' to 'Molly.'

For her part, Molly was as regretful of what she had done as she was proud. The boy certainly hadn't deserved to be attacked, but she could no longer have borne his nuisance. And to call her 'mouse'! Why, he ought to be punished severely for that alone, not to mention his abhorrent behavior toward her! Tossing chalk and paper, as if he wasn't more than 5 years of age!

Her pride thus wounded and her mind made up about the boy, Molly walked out of the classroom with her head held high. Mary Morstan, the neighbor girl Molly hoped and knew would become her dearest friend, rushed up to her from her waiting place by the tree. From the corner of her eye, she saw Sherlock standing across the yard talking with the beautiful Irene Adler, whose face conveyed frustration as Sherlock turned away from her mid-sentence.

Molly determinedly walked in the opposite direction, hooking her arm through Mary's as they began the walk home. Their journey, though, was short-lived, as Sherlock stepped across their path. Molly resolutely ignored him, lifting her chin up haughtily and walking past him.

'Molly, wait.' He walked behind her, trying to get her attention. He shoved his hands in his trouser pockets and hunched his shoulders, his curls falling over his eyes endearingly. 'I'm sorry for teasing you.'

Molly stopped and cast a disdainful, sideways glare at him. Tugging firmly on Mary's arm, she pulled her friend along once more, leaving Sherlock to stare after them.

'Oh, Molly, how could you?' Mary whispered in astonishment. 'Sherlock's always getting under everyone's skin with his deductions, but he's never,  _ever,_  apologized before!'

'There's a world of difference between deducing someone and being called 'mouse,' Mary!' Molly argued defensively. 'I may be plain and lack the grace and charisma of girls far more beautiful than I, but I shall not stand for being called names, especially 'mouse' by an arrogant boy.'

Mary gasped. 'But Molly…'

Molly interrupted and said firmly, 'I shall never forgive him!'

* * *

The first term was almost half-way through and Molly eagerly anticipated their testings. For near gone two months, she and Sherlock had been waging an unspoken battle as to who was top in each subject. And Molly refused to be second to the arrogant boy.

Mrs Hudson smiled at the class, her eyes twinkling behind her glasses. 'The results of the mathematics examination are in.'

Molly breathed in deeply and clasped Mary's hand beside her in anticipation.

'The top three are as follows,' Mrs Hudson continued. 'In first, William Holmes.'

A keen sense of disappointment filled Molly. She could almost feel Sherlock's smug grin behind her.

'Second, Margaret Hooper.'

Mary squeezed her hand in congratulations and Molly beamed at her. Although not first, she would not wallow in defeat, instead relishing the success of second place.

The rest of the announcement faded as the class packed their belongings and were dismissed for the day. Gathering her books, Molly slid out of her seat and turned around just as Sherlock stood. He caught her gaze and grinned arrogantly.

Her nose twitched involuntarily and she huffed. With a wink, he swept from the room, Irene on his heels.

'Oh, Molly, aren't you ever going to forgive him?' Mary admonished her friend as they walked down the dirt path toward home.

Molly was about to answer when she caught sight of Sherlock up ahead, standing next to Irene. Her heart twitched in her chest and she grew more annoyed at the curly-haired boy. 'No, I will not.'

As they passed by, Sherlock abandoned Irene and caught up to them, his books' leather strap slung over his shoulder. 'Congratulations, Molly. According to Mrs H, you were only a few points behind me.'

Molly quirked an eyebrow and turned her head to nod at him in acknowledgement.

'At least you're no longer ignoring me,' he quipped.

Molly stopped and spoke firmly without looking back. 'It is polite to extend an acknowledgment of congratulations. I was merely applying basic manners to a situation.'

'Oh, get off your high horse, Molly.' Sherlock forced a laugh.

Walking once more, Molly pulled Mary along, not deigning to reply to the boy.

'Oh, Molly,' her friend sighed. 'Why don't you let it go?'

'I refuse to be friendly to someone who, not only insulted me to the highest level, but associates with the likes of Irene Adler. For all his brilliance, he's easily turned by a pretty face.' Molly glanced back to see Irene pulling Sherlock along in the opposite direction.

'Well, the way I hear it, Sherlock doesn't like her that way. Says he prefers someone with a brain to someone who is 'beautiful by cultural standards.'

Molly felt her traitorous heart flutter, but hid it with a haughty lift of her chin. 'He certainly doesn't seem to believe it himself.'

Mary snorted. 'You're just jealous.'

'I am not, take that back!' Molly snapped.

'Well, you are!' The blonde prodded. 'And she's jealous of you! John Watson told me that Sherlock told him that you were the smartest girl in school  _right in front of Irene_! And that being smart was better than being pretty.'

For one second, Molly felt an indescribable joy fill her. She stopped and looked over her shoulder, catching Sherlock's eye as he looked back at the same time. Her heart skipped a beat.

But in the second, her anger rose as Mary's words sunk in. She whipped about and marched on. 'Well, if that isn't the most insulting thing I've heard! How dare he!'

'Wait, Molly, I don't think he meant it like  _that_!' Mary rushed after her, trying to explain.

'So I'm not pretty, or fashionable, or graceful, like Irene. I don't give two figs! I'd rather have brains than be an empty-headed ninny like her!' Molly stomped on, her pace quickening, unaware of her friend's struggle to keep up. If anything, this revelation only solidified her promise to never forgive Sherlock Holmes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I own neither Sherlock nor Anne of Green Gables, though both have consumed enough of my life to claim ownership of me.


	3. Predicaments and Pride

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> With my Big Bang story done, finito, finished, and revealed, I am slowly making my way back toward my unfinished works. The first post-BB story? My Anne of Green Gables AU. Because I can't help myself. And I'm really just using the basic premise now, so there will be wild discrepancies from the original story... which is probably good. :)

Why, oh why, had she taken that leaky old skip out onto the river? Mother was right; curiosity would be the death of her yet! It was a foolish idea, impulsive at best, but Molly had been sure it would work, and she was nothing if not adventurous!

And now she was stuck, in the middle of the river, wet, cold, and…

Molly stopped mentally berating herself at the sound of oars sluicing through the water. Looking over her shoulder, she felt her heart fall into her stomach.

_Of all the people to find me in this predicament..._

It was with every last shred of pride she still had that she forced herself not to bang her head against the damp wood post to which she clung and instead lift her chin in the air as the rowboat slid up beside her.

'Molly Hooper,' Sherlock chuckled, bracing his arm on the bottom rafts of the bridge. He looked her up and down, clearly deducing the foolish decision she'd made that had led her to this predicament. But, to her surprise, he didn't comment and instead rolled his eyes and reached out his arm to help her aboard. 'Come on, get in.'

With the little grace she possessed, Molly stumbled into the boat and quickly sat up, settling her wet skirts around her modestly and managing a curt, 'Thank you.'

Sherlock opened his mouth to say something, but one look at her haughty countenance and he shut it, letting go of the bridge and rowing them down the river toward the lower banks.

When he'd pulled the boat partly out of the water, Molly stood and jumped out, ignoring his proffered hand. Humiliated and angry with herself, she began to trudge up the hill, hoping he would leave her alone and let her die of embarrassment on her own.

'Molly, wait!' He called after her, but she ignored him. He grunted behind her, pulling the rowboat onto shore. She picked up her pace, her wet skirts hindering her ability to run, and he easily caught up with her, overtaking her and cutting off her escape.

'Please leave me to my humiliation, Mr Holmes,' Molly bit out, her cheeks burning red. 'I do not need your mockery at present.'

He frowned and huffed. 'I'm not going to mock you, silly girl. I want to see if you're okay.'

Against her will, Molly shivered. No, she was not okay. She was wet, cold, and embarrassed. She crossed her arms and rubbed them briskly.

'I'll be fine,' she replied, but she couldn't hide the slight clacking of her teeth from the cold.

'I know when you're lying, Molly Hooper,' he warned. To her complete shock, he shrugged out of his tweed coat and draped it over her shoulders. She barely came to his chest and he was twice as wide in the shoulders as her, so his coat nearly swallowed her whole. But it was warm and dry and suddenly her pride didn't seem so important.

She pulled the lapels closed under her chin and looked up at him with a hesitant smile. 'Thank you.'

'Keep it on, you'll catch hypothermia without it.' He jammed his hands into his pockets. 'May I walk you home?'

Molly's eyes widened in panic. 'No!'

He flinched.

'I mean, no, thank you,' she tried to soften her tight words with a brief smile. 'I'll be fine on my own. And thank you for your coat, I shall have mother wash it and I will return it to you on Monday.'

Running a hand through his curls, Sherlock shook his head at her. 'You're the most stubborn girl I've ever met!'

Molly flushed darker and averted her gaze guiltily.

With a sigh of defeat, he said, 'It's been three years. Aren't you ever going to forgive me?'

She peeked up at him and felt her resolve almost completely collapse at the way he stared down at her, his curls falling across his forehead and his heart-stopping eyes beseeching her.

'I really am sorry,' he said softly, reaching out and tucking a strand of damp hair behind her ear. 'If I'd known that day how my actions would create such an animosity against me, I would never have called you 'mouse'.'

Truth be told, Molly didn't know why she was still being so stubborn. Habit, she supposed. She just had spent so much time telling herself she'd never forgive him that it was second-nature now.

But seeing him standing there, just the two of them, her heart racing at his touch… maybe it hadn't just been habit. Maybe there was a little fear mixed in there, too. Because the way he was staring at her was making her feel warm and a bit giddy and she knew it had nothing to do with the adrenaline from her adventure. And everything to do with him.

And it scared her.

He stepped closer until they were almost touching and Molly gulped.

'Forgive me?'

_Always._ Her heart answered him instantly. Her mind, though, traitor that it was, remained silent.

Sherlock cupped her cheek and a smirk played on his lips as he read the answer on her face. Her lips parted as he slowly lowered his head, their breaths ghosting together.

'Molly? Molly?!'

At the sound of her mother's panicked shout from somewhere down the lane, Molly sucked in a breath and stepped back. Her eyes went wide as the realization that they had been about to kiss sunk in.

She had almost kissed Sherlock!

_Sherlock Holmes_ had almost _kissed her!_

He hadn't moved, but a frustrated frown was forming on his face and he stepped toward her. Molly stumbled back and stammered, 'I-I-I have t-to go. Thanks for the coat a-and the saving th-thing!'

'Molly, wait-'

He reached for her, but she ducked away and began running toward her mother's voice, leaving him to stare after her.


	4. The Christmas Ball

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A very Merry Christmas to all of you! And to those who celebrate something else or not at all, I hope your day has been just as wonderful! :)
> 
> Thank you all for your reviews, kudos, encouragement, and loveliness!

Christmas music floated around the room and Molly hummed along as she sipped her punch. It was her favourite time of year; fresh snow falling in thick flakes and Christmas lights dazzling each tree. And now the Christmas Ball.

She smiled widely as Mary and John swirled past her, their cheeks rosy from the exertion of dancing. 

Mary had been so wary of John, who had been quite the flirt, but eventually he had won her over and now was a one-woman flirt. And if the way he was staring at her was any indication, he had serious plans to bring her along with him to medical school, a ring on her finger.

Molly brushed her hand against the silk of her skirt, the fabric billowing out as she swayed gently to the music. The crimson and ivory gown made her feel older than her 17 years. Her hair was in a loose braid and then pinned it back in a soft chignon and she wore ivory gloves that went past her elbows. Yes, she certainly did feel very grown up.

‘Oh, Molly! You simply must dance.’ Mary stumbled off the dance floor, pulling John behind her. They were both flushed from the exercise and couldn’t stop smiling.

‘And who, Mary, would dance with me?’ Molly laughed.

Mary nodded at a group across the room. ‘I wouldn’t be surprised if Sherlock didn’t want the first, if not all, the dances on your dance card tonight.’

Molly looked in that direction and her heart skipped a beat when she caught Sherlock’s unwavering gaze. He stood tall and distinguished in his suit, his curls brushed back elegantly. And he was ignoring the entire group around him as he locked eyes with her.

Swallowing, Molly looked down at her cup and then shakily set it on the table behind her.

‘Well? Aren’t you going to ask him to dance?’ Mary teased. John nudged her none-to-gently in the ribs and shot her a warning look.

‘Of course not!’

Mary huffed. ‘I thought you were friends?’

‘We are!’ Molly exclaimed defensively. Both John and Mary looked at her dubiously. Sure, Molly hadn’t been too friendly with Sherlock, but since the day he’d almost kissed her, they were on passable speaking terms. She no longer ignored him or looked down her nose at him in disdain.

Instead, she would blush at the very sight of him and stutter whenever he spoke to her. Whatever this new air between them was, she thought it was much worse than when she’d hated him.

‘Besides,’ she chuckled nervously, brushing off the uncomfortable line of questioning, ‘everyone knows I have two left feet. And even that is a rather generous assessment!’

Mary elbowed John again. Shooting his girlfriend one last glare, John rubbed his side and graciously held out his hand to Molly with a sincere smile. ‘I’d be delighted to dance with you.’

‘That’s very sweet of you, John, but I’m afraid you’d go home with a broken toe or two-oh!’

Before Molly could properly protest, John had pulled her into his arms and swept her into the bevy of dancers circling the room. Stumbling, Molly pulled back and desperately tried to find her footing. She mock scowled up at John who was trying to hold back his laughter.

‘If I tread on you, you only have yourself to blame!’ Molly warned, but she couldn’t stop the laugh bubbling up.

They danced around the room several times. And Molly only stepped on John’s toes thrice (and once more on purpose when he teased her); each time the poor boy tried to hide his grimace with a smile.

The song came to an end and they pulled apart, smiling and breathless, and clapped with the rest of the dancers.

Molly thanked John for the dance and kissed his cheek. The once flirtatious boy simply beamed back at her and squeezed her hands. Yes, Molly thought fondly of her best friends, John was as in love with Mary as she was with him.

Gathering her skirt in one hand, Molly turned to leave the dance floor. But her route was abruptly blocked by a broad chest in a rich aubergine shirt tucked into a striking black waistcoat.

‘I hope you don’t mind if I take the next dance.’

The deep baritone voice made her heart skip a beat and she slowly raised her eyes. Sherlock looked down at her, his face expectant. Behind her, John smiled smugly and walked over to Mary, who was watching them.

Molly belatedly realized Sherlock was holding out his hands. The strains of the next song were beginning and she cautiously slipped her hand in his. With ease, he stepped forward and soon they were dancing a smooth waltz. Molly couldn’t bring herself to look higher than the third button of his shirt.

‘I hear you’ve been accepted to Bishop’s College to study medicine next fall.’

Molly nodded. ‘You heard correctly.’

He turned them about, Molly’s skirts flowing around them. ‘Do you have any preference for speciality? Or are you as of yet undecided?’

Her gaze moved higher and she focused on his Adam’s apple bobbing just above his shirt collar. ‘I, erm, I hope to pursue Pathology.’

She held her breath and waited for the inevitable laugh of derision most everyone, aside from her friends and father, had given at the thought. Women studying medicine was no longer a strange occurrence, but pathology itself was a field few women pursued. Maude Abbott, however, had played a large role in building Molly’s confidence in her choice of study. The physician’s research and her zealous pursuit of knowledge had inspired Molly.

Molly was at peace with her decision. But for some reason, she dreaded hearing Sherlock’s mockery of her choice of study. They had been competing for top honors for years, but he’d made no secret that he thought everyone else to be significantly inferior to himself in every way. So, she braced herself for whatever harsh deduction he had for her and how studying Pathology was a foolish decision.

‘On the contrary, I think it admirable.’

Molly blinked in surprise and looked up at him.

Sherlock looked down and to the side, almost shyly. ‘You have very readable expressions.’

‘Oh.’ She licked her lips and tried to ignore the way her heart was pounding.

‘And I wish you all the best.’

Molly bit her lip and lowered her gaze. ‘Thank you.’

They did another turn about the room in silence.

‘Have you decided where you are going to study?’ Molly asked.

Sherlock hummed a yes. ‘I shall be starting at Queen’s College next month to study Chemistry.’

Molly stumbled to a halt, her eyes widening. ‘You’re leaving?!’

Barely aware of Sherlock tugging her out of the way, Molly blindly followed him out into the empty hall. Turning to face her, he ran a hand through his hair.

‘I didn’t mean to say it so suddenly, but…’ He looked down at her with a small smile. ‘Yes, I am leaving. I finished my exams last week; though I could have been done years ago, had my parents not insisted I ‘try to make friends my own age’.’

Molly swallowed and looked down at her hands, twisting her gloved fingers nervously. A thousand words ran through her mind, but, for once, none would come out.

‘Aren’t you going to say anything?’

A blush rose in her cheeks and she turned her head, still unable to meet his gaze.

‘I don’t know what to say.’

He lowered his voice to a soft whisper and stepped closer. ‘Maybe that you’ll miss me.’

Her breath hitched and she looked up at him. His face was shadowed in the dim light, but she swore she saw his eyes sparkle and soften as he gazed down at her. His lips twisted in a sad smile.

‘Of course. Of course I’ll miss you,’ Molly said, forcing a quiet laugh. ‘Who else will I be able to compete with?’

The light in his eyes dimmed and he looked away. ‘Right.’

Molly’s heart clenched and, without thinking, she reached out for his hand. ‘I’m sorry, that didn’t come out right. I… I will miss you terribly, Sherlock.’

He squeezed her hand, but his smile seemed forced.

‘Will you write to me?’ She ventured timidly, trying to undo the damage her thoughtless words had caused.

‘As often as I can.’ He let her hand go and shoved his hands into his pockets. Jerking his head toward the door, he said, ‘You’d better be getting back. I’ve got to go home. Lots of packing to do.’

‘Oh, right.’ Molly’s heart sunk. ‘When do you leave?’

‘Friday after next. My parents want me to celebrate the New Year with them. Classes begin the week following and I’ll only barely arrive in time to settle in.’

Molly bit her lip. For all outward appearances, he looked fine. But she could see beneath that bravado and she knew he was as scared of this major step in his life as he was excited.

She smiled reassuringly and leaned up on her tiptoes to press a gentle kiss to his cheek. ‘You’ll be brilliant, Sherlock Holmes. I know it.’

He stared down at her in surprise. Then, suddenly, he was cupping her cheeks and pressing his lips to hers. Before Molly could realize what was happening, he’d broken away. His nose brushed hers and their breaths mingled as he whispered, ‘Merry Christmas, Molly Hooper.’

Then he was gone, striding down the hall and grabbing his coat, before bursting out into the cold, the blustery wind following in his wake.

As the door slammed shut behind him, Molly raised a trembling hand to her tingling lips.

_‘Merry Christmas…’_


	5. A Year Later

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What has happened in the year since Sherlock kissed Molly?

‘Oh, Mary, it’s simply the most perfect day!’ Molly smiled brightly and swept into the room where Mary was getting ready. Her friend’s blonde hair was pulled to one side in a soft bun and her mother was in the process of placing a circlet of red roses atop her head.

Molly gasped and rushed to her friend’s side. ‘And don’t you look absolutely perfect!’ Careful not to wrinkle Mary’s dress, Molly hugged her quickly, then held her hands and stepped back, taking in the satin gown. ‘A more beautiful bride I shall never see!’

Mary giggled, the excitement of the day bringing a pleasing blush to her cheeks. ‘I don’t know if I’m happy or terrified!’

‘Oh, hush now, you’re positively glowing from happiness,’ Molly insisted. With a knowing smile, she kissed Mary’s cheek and squeezed her hands reassuringly. ‘Ready to become Mrs John Watson?’

‘Oh, absolutely!’ Mary breathed out. Molly smiled and helped her into her red wool coat before tucking Mary’s hand in hers. Together, they walked outside to the waiting carriage that would take them to the church, where John was waiting.

She and Mrs Morstan helped Mary into the festive carriage. Once the bride was settled, Molly hurried around to the other side and hopped in, while Mrs Morstan joined her husband in front.

As they pulled away, Molly looked out over the snow-laden countryside, the white powder shimmering enchantingly in the sun. She loved being at school, the classes and challenges it brought, but to be home, if just for a short holiday, was a balm to her soul.

‘John is having Sherlock stand up with him,’ Mary broke the silence.

Molly turned to look at her and furrowed her brow. ‘Oh? I thought he couldn’t get away from his studies.’

Mary adopted an air of nonchalance and looked out her own window. ‘That’s what he told us. But he apparently showed up at John’s house early this morning having traveled all night to get here.’

‘How-?’

‘John sent me a note this morning,’ a delicate blush stole across Mary’s face. ‘He mentioned Sherlock in the postscript.’

‘Oh.’ Molly didn’t know what else to say.

As Mary turned away, a knowing smile on her face, Molly looked back out her window and realised she felt the same as Mary: not sure whether to be happy… or terrified.

* * *

 

The vows had been said and the festivities were well underway as night fell. Looking for a breath of fresh air and a bit of quiet, Molly snuck away. Just for a few minutes.

Snuggling into the warmth of her wool coat, Molly strolled along the snow-laden path. The sounds of laughter and the tinkling of glass grew distant as she walked.

She reached the gazebo overlooking the river and leaned against the railing, the cold wind bringing a pleasing blush to her cheeks. Not that she needed its help. All day, she’d been avoiding Sherlock, but she could feel the weight of his stare.

Since he’d left for Queen’s almost twelve months previously, she hadn’t held out a hope that he would write more than a few letters. When the first one had arrived a week after his term began, she had hesitated to open it, remembering the kiss from Christmas.

Taking a deep breath, she opened it to find a single page filled on both sides with his neat, concise handwriting.

He spoke of the trip, his mother’s blubbering about leaving him there, the easy classes that had yet to challenge him… It was more information in that one page than she’d ever heard from him in all the years she’d known him. There was no mention of what had transpired between them at Christmas. With a sigh of relief and a smile on her face, she had written back.

She hadn’t expected to hear from him again, but within two weeks of this first letter, his second had arrived. And so it went on, every other week she would find a letter addressed to her and she would reply. Gradually, their written conversations grew longer, taking up two, then three or more pages, the topics varying from John and Mary’s engagement to the experiment in combustion that Sherlock attempted, inevitably singeing off his left eyebrow.

Somewhere in the past year, she began to consider Sherlock a friend. A dear friend, in fact. One she would be heartbroken to lose.

But they’d never discussed the kiss. But now here, face-to-face, the kiss seemed to hang between them, something that had the potential to ruin this friendship that she held so dear.

‘I thought I’d find you here,’ a voice spoke behind her and she looked up to see Sherlock come to stand beside her. He leaned against the railing, turned toward her. His gaze felt heavy on her and she looked away, back out over the river.

‘Predictable to a fault, that’s me,’ she said with a wry smile. ‘Unlike you. I’m surprised you made such a long trip last minute; but I know it made John and Mary so happy to have you here.’

He didn’t answer for a moment, staring at her still, before following her gaze. ‘And you?’

‘And me?’ She frowned.

‘Did my presence make you happy, as well?’

Her eyes widened and she knew that the blush suffusing her cheeks was no longer the fault of the cold wind. ‘O-of course,’ her voice cracked slightly and she and cleared it, continuing softly, ‘Sherlock, you’re one of my dearest friends. I will always be happy to see you.’

His taut features relaxed somewhat and he nodded, as if sorting through her words.

‘Molly, there’s been something I’ve wanted to say, to ask really,’ Sherlock said, his cool baritone wavering with nervousness. ‘I’ve had a lot of time to think this past year and your letters and attentions have given me reason to hope that perhaps my affections are not as one-sided as I once thought.’

Molly’s heart dropped to her feet. ‘Sherlock-’

‘No, please,’ he interrupted, turning to face her. She looked up at him, feeling as if she was on a sled careening down a hill without anything to stop her. ‘Let me finish. I have reason to believe that my feelings for you have grown from a mere infatuation to a deep love and I hope you feel the same.’

Molly’s eyes widened as Sherlock grasped both her hands in his. ‘Please tell me you feel the same.’

‘Oh, Sherlock,’ she breathed.

His face lit up briefly with the faintest hope, but her sorrowful expression doused the tiny flame. She cupped his cheek and tried to find the words. ‘I care for you, Sherlock. You are my dearest friend. But I don’t love you like you want me to.’

He covered her hand with his, his gaze fierce. ‘You don’t mean that. I’ve heard your love in the words you write, I’ve felt it in the care you give, and I see the fear in your eyes. Fear that maybe you won’t be good enough.’

Molly tugged her hand back, tears filling her eyes. ‘You deserve someone who will adore you, who will love you like you deserve. Someone who is good enough.’ She smiled sadly. ‘But I’m not her.’

Sherlock clenched his jaw and looked out over the water, leaning his hands on the rail. ‘I don’t understand. How could you deny what your heart is saying?’

‘Because my heart isn’t saying it,’ she pleaded with him to understand, a tear falling. ‘Sherlock, you are so very dear to me and I, I never wanted to hurt you. But you are not the man I’m meant to love.’

She placed her hand over his and squeezed reassuringly. ‘Please, please don’t let this ruin our friendship.’

‘Your friendship can't satisfy me, Molly. I want your love,’ he turned his head and the pain on his face broke her heart. He pulled his hand from under hers and turned to walk away.

‘Sherlock, wait-’ Molly grabbed his arm. He looked back at her and the coldness in his eyes froze the words in her throat.

‘I don’t let myself fall victim to sentiment, Molly. It’s a weakness. But with you, I never had a choice. You were under my skin before I could build up a defence.’ He turned and her hand dropped, falling to her side uselessly as she stared up at him. ‘But ever since the day I met you, the day I made the monumental mistake of calling you ‘Mouse’...’ He closed his eyes. ‘I’ve let myself fall deeper and deeper in love with you.’

Molly’s heart was thundering and it felt like the world was shifting under her feet.

‘I pride myself on my genius, my ability to read people, and I know that you feel something for me that is deeper than mere friendship.’ He stepped away, shuttering himself off from her. ‘But if you won’t accept that, there is nothing I can do. You believe that friendship will be sufficient, but this past year has made it clear to me that it will never be enough for me.’

A sob bubbled up and Molly stepped toward him, reaching out. ‘Sherlock, please-’

His gaze softened and he reached out to cup her cheek. Against her will, she leaned into the warmth of his hand and she covered his hand with hers, closing her eyes.

Suddenly there was a soft pressure on her other cheek. Her eyes flew open and her heart skipped a beat to find Sherlock pulling back, his eyes, so beautiful and clear and close, taking her in. ‘I do hope you find the love you are looking for, Molly.’

Then he was gone, striding away into the night, turning up his coat collar as he went.

Molly stared after him, her heart feeling empty and a small voice whispering that she had just lost something irreplaceable.

‘Please don’t go,’ she whispered.

But it was too late.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for the huge delay and for, well, that (points up to story). Only a chapter or two more before I wrap up this lovely story, which started from a simple drabble. :)
> 
> A million thanks to Buttercup59 for being a phenomenal Beta! Any remaining mistakes are mine. :)


	6. Realisations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Much much love to Buttercup59 for Beta-ing!

**Two Years Later** _  
_

_ I’m sure you’ve heard by now, dearest Molly, of the sickness that has nearly taken Mrs Holmes. She fights it with a fury only she could muster and it may very well crumble to her will. We can only pray she grows stronger every day and comes through the other side. _

_ Though I know you have not been in touch for near gone two years now, I feel I should tell you of Sherlock’s return. The very day after we sent word of his mother’s illness, he arrived upon the morning train having travelled all night. He later sent for his things and declared himself educated sufficiently enough to leave ‘that wretched institution they insultingly call higher education.’ But John and I know he has returned for the sake of his father and mother and to support them during this time. He is a far greater man than he would ever believe of himself.  _

_ Alas, I must stop writing or risk running late to tea with Harriet. We miss you terribly, especially little Rosie, who even now is asking for her ‘An-Mowwy.’ And I expect you to visit within the season, for it has been far too long since we have seen you. _

_ Love, _

_ Mary _

oOo

‘Molly, darling, you’re a bit distracted tonight.’

Molly turned her head away from where she’d been staring out the window. Tom was looking at her with a slight frown. They’d been courting for nearly a year after she had been introduced to him by her pathology mentor. Tom was a brilliant pathologist, albeit a bit stiff and aloof, but Molly knew in her head that theirs was a smart match. They were a powerful couple and they would make ground-breaking discoveries together in the world of pathology. But as the months passed, she slowly began to feel as if something was off. Yet she pushed aside her doubts.

She smiled and reached across the table to cover his hand with hers. ‘I’m sorry, what were you saying?’ 

Tom smiled crookedly and shook his head. ‘Daydreaming again, sweetheart?’

Molly’s smile cooled instantly and she clenched her teeth. There was that condescension. It had been creeping into his tone more and more as of late.

‘Just thinking about my residency. I can’t believe I start in less than two weeks!’ She watched the look that passed over his face with a sinking stomach. It wasn’t the face of a man proud of the woman he loved’s accomplishments. It was the face of a man who had humoured the girl he was courting.

‘That’s what I wanted to talk to you about.’ He lifted her knuckles to his lips and pressed a kiss. When they had first begun courting, the action had sent Molly’s heart skittering. Now… it made her feel like an object. ‘If we’re to be married within the year, should you really be planning on a career? What about children?’

Molly tugged her hand from his grasp and sat up straighter. ‘I would love to have children someday. But I thought you understood, and appreciated, what a career in pathology means to me. I’d like to finish my education and establish myself before I have children.’ 

Tom’s smile instantly dropped and his nostrils flared. ‘You’re not serious?’

‘On the contrary, I very much am,’ Molly clipped. 

‘Molly, sweetheart,’ he tilted his head forward and smiled patronisingly. ‘No one is going to take you seriously as a pathologist. Why waste all that time fighting against society’s expectations only to fail when we can instead start on the family we’ve always wanted.’

Molly stared at him and tried to control her breathing. ‘Thomas, I thought you understood… not just understood, but  _ appreciated _ my intelligence and desire to be a pathologist. If you can’t accept that, then I would suggest that you find another woman who is willing to not strive for anything but to bear your children. Because I am not, and will never be, her.’

His mouth gaped open as she pushed her chair back and stood, laying her napkin on the table. 

‘Molly, wait.’ He grabbed her arm as she walked past. ‘Won’t you reconsider? We’re an admirable match, you must see that! Our marriage would be advantageous to both of us. Don’t throw it away on some pipe dream of being a pathologist.’

Molly looked down at him, a familiar voice echoing in her mind.

_ I think it admirable _ .

Even now, two years later, she remembered them as clearly as if Sherlock had spoken them yesterday. Never once had he made her feel foolish for pursuing pathology. Never once had he condescended to her. No, Sherlock had always challenged her mind, encouraged her, and it was his words of affirmation that had her standing tall and confident even when others tried to put her down.

She’d been waiting for a man who would complement her and she’d thought she’d found that in Thomas. 

Finally, Molly’s heart closed the gap on her mind. She realised what she’d been looking for had been in front of her all along. She had ignored her heart’s protestations and foolishly thought that her perfect match would be found in a man like Tom: a pathologist, well-respected, from a good family, but who would never see  _ her _ , her passions and intelligence. She was simply his means to an end. 

And in her foolishness, she had spurned the man she now realised was that perfect match in every way, even the one she hadn’t expected. He had loved her. 

_ And she loved him. _

A smile pulled at the corners of her lips. Tom, thinking she was agreeing with him, smiled back and relaxed his grip. 

‘Thank you, Tom,’ she said and stepped away. ‘For finally making me realise I could never marry you.’

His mouth dropped open in surprise, but she didn’t stick around to hear his sputtering. 

Gathering her coat close to her chin and holding her hat atop her head, she hurried out into the cold winter air. She breathed out, the mist surrounding her, and she grinned widely, almost stupidly. It was as if she had been wearing a blindfold, shackling her heart down into a tiny box, and had now set it free. The darkness, like the mist of her breath, faded away and suddenly everything was bright and her feet were back on solid ground.

And she wasn’t going to waste one second more. She had a train to catch. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! *waves sheepishly* I know it's been awhile, but I hope the wait has been worth it! We're closing in on the end; only one more chapter to go. :)


	7. At Last

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, I'm SO sorry for how long it's taken me to write this story. It's dear to my writer's heart, not only because it is Sherlock and Molly, but because the story of Anne and Gil is my absolute favorite. I hope all of you patient readers find this last chapter to be the ending you wanted. ❤ Sky

She’d traveled all night, arriving on the Holmes’ doorstep as the sun was breaking over the horizon, sleep-deprived and impatient to see Sherlock. But when the door swung in, it wasn’t the tall, curly-haired man she’d been expecting on the other side. No, John Watson somberly stared back at her. His silver-blond hair was mussed and bags hung under his eyes.

“Sherlock?” She breathed, almost afraid to hear his answer. John looked sorrowfully over his shoulder. 

Tears stung her eyes and she hurried past John and up the stairs, her heart running ahead of her feet. The door nearest was open, sunlight beginning to filter through. Her breath caught as she stepped into Sherlock’s bedroom and her gaze fell upon her beloved. 

Pale. He was so pale. 

His curls were damp from fever and his cheekbones stuck out harshly, making him appear gaunt. His tall frame should have dwarfed the small bed, but seeing him lying there, he seemed a small boy. Molly swallowed thickly and bit her lip, slowly lowering herself into the chair by the head of the bed. Tears filled her eyes, slowly dripping down her cheeks. 

She heard footsteps behind her as John rounded the other side of the bed. 

“How long has he been ill?” She asked, her eyes on Sherlock.

“Not quite four days. When his mother had taken a turn for the better last week and he had shown no symptoms, we foolishly thought he was in the clear.” John’s face betrayed his self-inflicted guilt and his shoulders slumped as if he bore the weight of the world. She knew he was a kindred spirit, like her he tended to carry more burdens than he ought. 

“His fever needs to break soon or…” John trailed off, his voice breaking.

Noticing the bowl on the nightstand, she dipped the cloth in the cool water, wrung it out, and dabbed Sherlock’s sweaty brow. Without taking her gaze from her beloved, she spoke to John, “Get some rest. I’ll keep watch over him.”

Too weary to argue, John nodded and left, his heavy steps fading as he walked down the hall to the spare room.

Alone with Sherlock, Molly tugged the quilt covering his shivering form up higher, her hands lingering over his shoulders. She brushed his hair back, her touch loving and gentle. 

At her touch, his eyes fluttered open and he looked over at her, a flash of surprise in his glassy eyes. 

“Hello, Sherlock,” she greeted him softly, unable to keep her voice from breaking. A few tears slipped down her face. 

His lips parted and he tried to speak, but his throat was dry and hoarse from disuse. Molly gently cupped the back of his neck and lifted his head to carefully squeeze some drops of water from the pitcher on the nightstand. He didn’t look away from her once.

“Are you a dream?” He finally managed to ask, his voice no louder than a whisper.

“No, dearest.” She leaned forward, brushing the back of her hand along his cheek. His skin was still hot and clammy with fever. “I’m right here. I’m real.”

His eyes glazed over and he struggled to keep his eyes open as sleep pulled him away. “Promise?”

She brought his hand to her cheek and prayed with all her heart. “Promise.”

oOo

For the next two days, Molly waited. Waited, prayed and hoped that Sherlock would pull through. She did not know what she would do if she lost him. Her foolishness and stupidity had cost them years and to have the possibility of them torn away by death just when she realised what he meant to her would be a cruel twist of fate she would not be able to bear.

The evening of the third day, John had ordered her away finally, insisting that he would call for her immediately if anything happened while she was resting. In her family home, her mother had held her as she wept, in sorrow and exhaustion, before ushering her to sleep. 

oOo

**One Week Later**

The warm midday sun shone down on her as she walked down the path, breathing in deeply of the fresh air. The wind tousled the tall grass in the fields and tugged her hair free of its loose plait. 

As she rounded the curve toward the Watson land, horses grazing in the fenced pasture to the east, she saw a man down the road walking toward her. Her cheeks heated as soon as she recognized the dark curls and loping gait. She held back her smile as best she could. 

They came to a stop within arms reach of each other. Molly twisted her hands together, finding herself unable to look away from him. “It’s good to see you, Sherlock. How are you feeling?”

“I’ve certainly felt worse,” he quipped. His face was gaunt, but no longer pale as it had been, and he had a healthy glow about him. From the brink of death he had come, nearly three days past, and his recovery was rapid, to the surprise and relief of everyone. John had declared it a miracle and insisted that Sherlock simply defied death its victory out of pure spite.

Molly had selfishly hoped it was something, or someone, else that had encouraged Sherlock to fight.

She refused to smile and encourage his little joke, but her twinkling surely gave her away. “Well, John must be relieved, at least. You being his first patient, it would be rather unfortunate if you had passed away under his care.”

Sherlock laughed, a bright and unexpected sound, that filled Molly with joy. Her smile broke free and reflected his own. 

The silence that fell as their laughter faded was comfortable, but held an expectancy that caused Molly’s heart to pound. “So, are you planning to return to Queen’s soon? To finish the term?”

“I’ve decided to forego my studies. For the time being, at least.” He leaned against a fence post almost casually, but Molly could see how the walk had wearied him and barely restrained herself from reaching out to him. “I had been consulting with the local constabulary on a fairly regular basis, which is far more exhilarating than those dull Chemistry lectures I had to sit through. And they’ve paid well for my assistance, so I intend to return at some point in the near future to establish a consulting practice.”

“That’s incredible, Sherlock!” Molly beamed, her heart swelling with pride. Sherlock’s cheeks flushed under her praise and even the tips of his ears turned pink.

“And you, Molly Hooper...when do you return to your studies?” He kept his face clear of emotion and focused his gaze straight ahead, staring out across the sloping fields. “And the fiance who is no doubt missing you this very moment.” 

“Well, I should probably return within the week.” She followed his gaze, watching him frown out of the corner of her eye, and tried to keep her smile in check. “If only to coordinate with my residency advisor on a new post. And I sincerely doubt that Tom is missing me,” she smiled knowingly. “Especially considering that I refused his proposal.”

She turned back to him and found him staring down at her, a hesitant hope sparked in his eyes. “I’m...sorry to hear that.”

“No, you’re not.” Molly laughed softly. “We made sense in theory, but when it came down to it, I...I couldn’t marry someone I didn’t love.” She dipped her head, peeking up at him shyly as she quietly admitted, “Especially when I love someone else.”

He swallowed. Her heart in her throat, she stepped closer to him and reached for his hand. Hope filled her as he allowed her to interlace her fingers with his. “I’ve been all kinds of a fool and I understand if I’ve lost any chance, but I’ve only just realised what my heart has been telling me for years. That it belongs to you.”

She bit her lip and held her breath as he searched her face, his own expressionless.

“I’m still the same man,” he finally spoke. “That night in the gazebo, you were fairly adamant about where your heart lay. Or rather, where it did not. Are you sure you would not be happier with someone else?”

“I don’t want anyone else.” She gripped his hand tightly and raised it to her lips. He had every right to break her heart as she’d broken his, but she hoped… hoped so desperately, that he would forgive her. “I just want you.”

His smile was as bright as the rising sun. He reached up and trailed his knuckle down her cheek. “I love you, Molly Hooper.”

Her heart sang and she beamed up at him. “And I love you, Sherlock Holmes.” Her hand slid around to the back of his neck and he leaned down, their lips meeting in the middle. 

They had finally come home.   
  



End file.
